Motivations
by roguetimechild
Summary: Birkhoff and Alex deal with their messed up lives and each other.
1. Obsessed

I do not own Nikita. All rights to original owners, actors, and writers.

Duh.

Set in season one. Alex is out of Division training, Michael and Nikita are together, and Birkhoff is still a reluctant member of Team Evil.

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><p>Alex was quite sick of hearing about Michael. And talking about Michael. And watching out for Michael. She had a general Michael-resentment. However, this was one of the worst kinds of resentments to have when working for Nikita.<p>

"Why did Michael agree to this mission?" Nikita asked urgently, practically bouncing.

Alex sighed, flopping her head onto the back rest of the chair she was in. Her sigh echoed through the building, bouncing off the faraway walls and seeming to take ages to deflect back to her ears. Nikita's house was so big.

"I don't know. I can't read minds. Ask him when he gets here."

"He couldn't have agreed to do it so easily," Nikita mused, pacing the floor. Her heels made resounding clicks through the house, ricocheting through the air and quadrupling the amount of clicks that could be heard. "The mission involves killing children. He wouldn't agree to that."

"Of course not," Alex scoffed. "You know, your constant worry about Michael used to be cute, but now it just bugs me."

"This is serious, Alex," she snapped, going into authority-figure mode, which Alex resented. "If Michael goes bad, he knows all our secrets. He could very easily expose us."

"So, you'll trust Michael to make out with you and play your emotions on a regular basis, but you won't trust him to not kill children?"

Nikita sighed, seeing Alex's point. But she wouldn't admit it. It was excruciating for her to admit to the notion that she might be wrong. "Will you be going on this mission with him?" she asked instead.

"That's the plan."

"Keep an eye on him, will you?" she requested.

"You're asking me, the little girl, formerly homeless and escaped victim of child traffickers, to keep an eye on the competent adult male with large gun?"

"Yes," Nikita nodded unashamedly.

"You're so obsessed," I point out. "And with Michael, of all people."

"I'm sorry, are there any other Division workers worth obsessing over?" Nikita challenged.

"Well, there's Birkhoff," she replied much too quickly.

"Nerd?" Nikita scrunched her eyebrows.

"Or . . . you know . . . other people," she stammered, pretending to be fascinated with the arm of the chair. "Some of the recruits are nice enough."

"You're not hanging out with Nerd, are you?"

"Why would I?" Alex evaded. "He's, you know, nerdy."

"That tends to run among nerds."

Alex chuckled, perhaps a little too loudly.

"I trust you, Alex," Nikita said. "Don't betray that."

"I wouldn't want to."

"Then _don't_," Nikita stressed, walking up to her with her hands on her hips. "You can fall in love with civilians, but being in love with someone in Division is too risky."

"That's rich, coming from the president of the Michael fan club," Alex spat, a little too much spite coming out with the phrase.

"That's different," she defended pathetically.

"And you were okay with Thom, weren't you?" she prodded.

"I didn't know you were involved with Thom until he was dying in front of you. I figured a corpse wasn't exactly a threat to us."

Alex winced at the touchy subject. The subject wasn't touchy because she still loved Thom. Like Nikita said, he was a corpse now. But the fact that she'd killed him, that was a memory she'd like to suppress.

"So you didn't approve of Thom?"

"No, Alex, I didn't," Nikita said. "And why are you all tooth-and-nail about this? Are you in love Birkhoff or not?"

"No," Alex stated matter-of-factly. And it wasn't a lie. "In love" was too far a stretch. She was merely slightly infatuated with Birkhoff and preferred the times they were together to the times they weren't.

Nikita eyed her suspiciously. Her jaw clenched in the effort to keep a smug face on.

"Alright," Nikita finally said, but she still sounded skeptical. "But I'm only believing because I know you have Nathan."

"Yeah, about that . . ."

"What is it now?" Nikita sighed.

"Don't let this change your opinion about the Birkhoff thing, but Nathan and I are sort of over."

"What?" she gasped.

Alex cocked her head. "I didn't know you liked him that much."

"I don't. He's a meddlesome tool who swings a bat like a girl," she explained, "but he _knows _about you. And now he has a reason to tell."

"What's he gonna do? Tell the police there's a government assassin on the loose? Division can cover that up no problem." She used hands gestures, chopping the air to stress her point.

"Didn't you teach him how to fight and protect himself?"

"Yeah."

"He could use that against you," Nikita pointed out.

"I taught him everything he knows," Alex reminded her. "I can take care of myself." And, just to revert the conversation back to the sickly topic it was originally intended to be, she added, "And so can Michael."

Meanwhile, at Division, Birkhoff was speaking with Michael himself. Birkhoff was at his computer, as customary, with Michael watching stoically over his shoulder, radiating a strange mix and power and annoyance.

"Check this out, my friend," Birkhoff told him with what sounded like mock enthusiasm, the tone he usually exhibited.

"What is it?" Michael asked, seeming unhopeful.

"I've got a reading on the one and only . . . wait for it . . . wait for it . . . let the suspense wash over you . . . Nikita," he announced. He started gesturing at indistinguishable symbols on the computer screen that only made sense to him. "She made a phone call to her CIA pal, Ryan Fletcher, with a disguised voice. I was able to intercept that call and found that the voice was much too animated to not be staged. So I traced that call and, low and behold, it was made at the Whitfield mansion, which is likely to be Niki's hideout, which I believe you were at mere weeks ago."

"What's your point?" Michael asked tensely.

"I'm pretty sure that's Niki's hideout," he told him, "and you came back from that place seemingly empty-handed. So," he swiveled around in his chair to face Michael smugly, "I'm under the terrible impression that you fell for some Nikita charm once again. That, or you got to her house when she was out to lunch."

Michael stiffened, crossing his arms even tighter. "That's quite a theory, Birkhoff."

"You know it's true."

"You don't know anything," Michael spat, turning to stomp off.

"Look, if you and Niki are BFFs again, I'm not judging," he called after him. "She was, and apparently is, a hot chick."

"Shut up," Michael called over his shoulder.

"BFFs with benefits, perhaps?" he continued. "Absolutely understandable."

"Oh, yeah?" Michael turned on him. "What about you and Alex?"

Birkhoff's face fell. "What _about_ Alex?" His eyes shifted around the room, hoping none of the other computer agents were eavesdropping.

Michael's face softened, too. The comment was meant to be a petty jab, but Birkhoff's reaction was too quick, too caught off-guard.

"Never mind," Michael said quietly, deciding not to push the matter. He turned again to exit the computer room, glancing back at Division's computer whiz a few times.

Birkhoff watched him leave nervously, frustrated with himself. "Well played, Birkhoff," he muttered to himself. "Way to play it cool."


	2. Confusing Little Thing

Hi, lovelies. Thank you for you lovely reviews.

FYI, in case you haven't figured it out, this is set in season one.

I own no right to Nikita. Credit to actors, writers, and all others involved.

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><p>Alex strolled through the corridors of Division, her deep-brown ponytail bobbing against her back. After her confrontation with Nikita, she had become much more aware of the presence of Birkhoff. She walked past the recruit training area and knew Birkhoff was just behind the glass wall behind it. He could very well be staring at her right now.<p>

In fact, he was. Birkhoff, as if beckoned by an unseen force, swiveled to view the window the second Alex had come by. She was staring at him too, but from her distance, the glass was pretty much opaque. He wondered, still, if she could in fact, see him, if she was acutely aware of his presence behind the screen as he was of hers.

Even though one of them couldn't see the other, they held the gaze until Alex had passed by the recruit training area altogether. Birkhoff let out a heavy sigh, and he wasn't aware that he had been holding his breath.

Alex hadn't. She had breathed perhaps a smidge too heavily. Even when passed the window, her eyes held the spot she'd been in the last time she'd seen it. But maybe it would've been smart to look ahead of her, because she ended up slamming straight into. . .

"Sorry, Michael," Alex apologized after her head bounced off of his chest.

"Just who I wanted to see," Michael smirked.

"Why's that?" she asked, suddenly filled with the overwhelming urge to kick his throat or perform some other action that would render him mute.

"I just had a talk with Birkhoff," he began.

Michael was about to reveal his insinuations, but first, he studied Alex's body language to see how Birkhoff's name affected her. Her eyes were fixed on the same spot they were before the name came out. Her body had not stiffened. Her jaw seemed to have tightened, but she had a strong jaw line anyway. That could be nothing. Overall, she seemed neutral to the name, but he knew from experience that Alex was quite a good actress.

"And?" Alex pressed when Michael didn't continue.

He studied her tone, too, and her body for a little while longer. He decided he didn't have enough evidence to press her or Birkhoff further, but enough to go talk to . . .

"Nikita's expecting me," he said. "We can finish this later."

Michael brushed past her and made his way down the corridor which she just came. When his footsteps were out of earshot, he burst through the door of the glass room, the computer room. There were plenty of other computer geeks in there, but, naturally, Birkhoff was the first one she saw.

He saw her, too. He looked up at her grimly, not through fault of her own. Mainly Michael's for bringing her up.

Alex didn't know what she planned to say to him. They barely spoke to one another, but she treasured the times in which they did. There was no reason to believe he felt the same way.

But what Michael said...

Michael had said he'd just spoken to Birkhoff. And that he'd wanted to confront her about the issue. There could've been a number of things they spoke of, but the positive, hopeful, lovely ones flooded her mind first. When the negative ones, like cancellation or probably-fatal mission starting rearing up, she shoved them aside and strutted over to him.

"We should talk," she said gruffly when she reached him.

Birkhoff looked up at her, expression unreadable. "And why is that?"

"Because . . . because . . ." Alex clung desperately to any reason she could think of, "because I think Michael . . . he just spoke to me. And you came up."

"Is that so terribly unlikely?" Birkhoff frowned. "I am a legend, after all."

"Can we just talk?" Alex pleaded. "Privately?"

Birkhoff was legitimately surprised by that last sentence. "Why privately?"

"So people don't hear," she frowned, annoyed by his stalling. "Just go out in the corridor with me for a few minutes, please?"

"I don't know," Birkhoff shrugged, dragging out her frustration. "I'm just so busy here. Government duty and whatnot."

Alex, feeling forward and fed up with his adorable version of irritability, grabbed him by the arm and yanked him up from his seat.

"Hey, now!" he exclaimed, nearly slamming into her face.

"Come _on_," she growled, not releasing his arm.

"Sir, yes, sir," he gasped in surprise.

Alex pulled Birkhoff back into the corridor, looking so serious and severe, she could be Michael.

"What's the big deal?" Birkhoff asked, yanking his arm away.

"Michael. He's . . . he's . . ." On to us? We weren't doing anything wrong. Suspicious? We hadn't done anything.

"Insane? Humorless? Ruggedly handsome?"

"No," she rolled her eyes, "he's . . .distrustful of us."

"I hardly see that as a problem," Birkhoff shrugged. "Doesn't Michael have deep-set trust issues anyway?"

"Why would he?"

"It may be something along the lines of his family being blown up by a secret terrorist he'd just befriended," he suggested. "I hear it's a side effect."

"He told you that?" Alex asked in surprise.

"Shocking as it may seem since I'm obviously so far above him, we're actually friends," he replied. "He told _you_ that?"

"No," she shook her head.

"So you just heard it through the grapevine?"

"Someone told me," she answered. Nikita had, in one of her Michael speeches. She could probably recite Michael's entire life story right now if she wanted, too.

"Who?" Birkhoff pressed. "Not many people have that information."

"Why so nosy, Birkhoff?" Alex sneered.

"Why so defensive, Alex?" he shot back

"Why so _annoying, Birkhoff_?"

"Who so out-of-witty-comebacks, _Alex?"_

Alex scowled at him. Geez, what was she so worried about? It'd be quite easy to stay away from Birkhoff with his stupid little attitude.

"Never mind," she huffed, turning to leave. "I guess I'll see you around."

Birkhoff watched her leave analytically. Sure, she was hot, but she was a confusing little thing.


	3. Stupid Decisions

Your reviews are like sentenced packed with smiles. Thank for them, especially the ones that tell exactly what you like and didn't like. And if I'm doing something I'm not supposed to, or not doing what I am, please forgive me, for I am new to the site, (and I don't know what PPMS means as of now...) Anyway, I combined what was originally two chapter to make this chapter longer. Please enjoy:)

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><p>"Nikita, we should talk," Michael requested as he sauntered into the house.<p>

"About Alex and Birkhoff?" she guessed, not looking up from her computer.

". . .Yes," he said, a little resentful of the stolen thunder. "How'd you know?"

"Alex is a good liar," she said. She looked up at him and continued, "but I taught her everything she knows."

"So what's the deal with the two of them, your all-knowing omnipotence?"

"I don't want to know," she winced, standing up to face him. "Everything I think of is exponentially gross."

"So you think they're involved?"

"If not, Alex wants them to be, though she won't admit it," Nikita explained, "even to herself."

"I think Birkhoff is the same way," Michael informed her. "I just spoke with him. He got jittery at the mention of Alex."

"What do we do about it?" she asked.

"I thought you were the one with the plans?"

"Where would this world be without women?" she teased. "Well, obviously, this relationship is dangerous. We can't be sure of Nerd's alliances."

"Hey, Birkhoff's my friend," Michael pointed out. "Go easy on the guy."

"Fine," she huffed, though having no intentions to. "The first step is just to keep an eye on them and, if you can do so without seeming sketchy, keep them apart. Alex may be a good liar, but if she gets to comfortable with Ner . . .Birkhoff, and shares the truth with him . . . well, it's not like he's very happy with me right now. He'd probably have Percy on me before we could find out."

"So is it Alex or Birkhoff that you don't trust?"

"I trust Alex," Nikita replied, "not Birkhoff. Why, do you trust him?"

"To a certain degree, I suppose."

"And Alex?"

"Yes, I trust Alex."

"Do you trust them together?" she asked.

"For me, the x-factor is Percy, Amanda, or anyone else at Division. I care about the well-beings of both Alex and Birkhoff, and you know Division's policy on relationships with co-workers."

"They'd be cancelled," Nikita realized out loud.

"If they have a relationship, let them," Michael announced, catching her by surprise, "as long as not even you and me can figure it out, because if we can, then Percy and Amanda can."

"I'm afraid we're at a disagreement, Michael," Nikita frowned. "I don't care how well they can keep secret, I don't want their to be a relationship at all, even if you are 'friends' with Birkhoff. It's too risky and Birkhoff is . . . malleable."

"Malleable?"

"He acts like this huge rebel, but he's an even bigger conformist. He'll do as he's told by Percy, even if he has to harm Alex."

"That's harsh," Michael scowled.

"It's true, isn't it?"

"I think you should give the man _some _credit."

"Like I said," she began, "I'm afraid we're at a disagreement."

Alex fumbled in her purse for the keys to her apartment. She didn't have many others possessions, yet it was always a struggle to find her freaking keys. It must've been a universal thing. After rummaging for a good thirty seconds, she plopped the bag onto the floor and bent down to it. Perhaps a more conventional angle would summon key-location success.

It didn't, but it might have if she had time. Before she could really get into the search, the door swung open in front of her.

Nathan stood in her apartment, looking upset.

"Nathan?" Alex breathed, her hands going still.

"Hiya, Alex," he greeted her humorlessly. He held up his right hand which was clutching a tiny, brass key, responding to her unanswered question. "You never took your key back."

"Can I have that back?" Alex inquired delicately, standing up slowly. Talking to Nathan seemed like walking on eggshells now. Say the wrong thing, and he could turn her in for being an assassin. When Nikita had asked about, she pretended to not care about this possibility, but Alex could die over such a confession, and so could Nathan. With him or not, Alex didn't want to be responsible for his death.

"Of course you can," he said, "after we talk."

"That's not really a good idea, Nathan," she warned.

"Why not?"

"I might say something wrong."

"You broke up with me over the phone," he pointed out. "There's a huge margin of error here."

"Fine," Alex agreed reluctantly. "Can I enter my own house now, please?"

"Be my guest," he gestured inside.

Alex brushed past him, adding some haughtiness to her walk. She had every intention on listening to whatever Nathan had to say until she saw the key hanging limply from his right hand. Before she fully formed the coherent thought to do so, she had spun around, snatched the key from Nathan's hand, and pushed him out the door in quite a ninja-like move. She shoved the door shut behind him, locking it before he had time to protest.

Besides killing people and attempting to kill people, that was probably the meanest thing Alex had ever done.

"Birkhoff?" Amanda called into the computer the room.

Crap, Birkhoff thought, pretending not to hear her.

"Birkhoff, I know you can hear me," she sneered.

Probably a lie. People just said that sometimes, because if they actually can't hear you, they won't know you said that.

"Birkhoff!" she snapped.

"You are interrupting very important business here, Amanda," Birkhoff told her, minimizing his game of solitaire.

"How will I ever survive?" she slurred in that annoyingly sultry voice of hers. "I'm here with a message. Michael wants to see you upstairs."

"Are his legs broken? Why can't he come down here?"

"He wanted to speak in private," she told him. "It must be important. I request you keep me posted on the contents of this discussion."

"I highly doubt that, Amanda," he feigned remorse. "We're not exactly BFFs, are we?"

"Perhaps not," she admitted, "but I do trust that you know what's good for you and that you'll tell me if anything sketchy might be occurring."

Birkhoff didn't like her tone. It sounded accusative. It usually did, so maybe he was paranoid, but it seemed extra suspicious-sounding today.

He stood from his chair, minimizing everything controversial he may have pulled up on the computer, and sauntered to the elevator, dodging the training recruits.

"Move, move, you are all below me," he murmured as he passed, slightly sarcastic.

He rode the elevator to the next floor up, though not entirely sure where he was supposed to be going. Michael, however, had anticipated his confusion, and was waiting just by the elevator doors.

"What's this about?" Birkhoff asked, not coming up with anything particularly witty to say.

"We need to talk," was Michael's answer.

"You should sort out your priorities, my friend," he replied. "We need food, water, and the grace of the good Lord, but we can live without talking. Sign language being around, and all."

"Let's talk anyway," Michael demanded. He led Birkhoff to a room just down the Hall. It was empty except for a few chair that seemed to be made of metal. Birkhoff imagined there was some electrocution involved in here.

"Have a seat," Michael offered, taking one himself.

Birkhoff did so.

"Remember how Nikita and I used to be . . . involved?" he began.

"Like it was only six years ago."

"What did you learn from watching me do that?"

"Are you implying that I watched?" Birkhoff scowled. "That's just sick, Michael. Plus, I could find that easily on the internet and. . ."

"No, Birkhoff," Michael sighed. "I mean, what did you learn from seeing the aftermath of it."

"The aftermath was Nikita leaving you to run off and going rogue, so I guess I learned that she doesn't know how to handle a break-up."

"I'm serious, Seymour."

"Ooh, first names," Birkhoff cooed. "I can tell this is serious."

"Just don't make the same mistakes I did, okay?"

"Again with the implications," he frowned. "What are you accusing me of?"

"I'm not accusing you of anything," Michael assured him. "I'm not even sure you're doing something. But I better not here that you are."

"Since when are you my authority figure?"

"I'm your friend. And as a friend, I'm warning you to watch yourself."

"You sound like the popular girl at high schools who tell nerdy chicks to watch themselves, and then give them laxatives at the prom or something," Birkhoff gratified, "but I actually am capable of making my own decisions. And I'm offended at being the nerdy chick."

"I just don't want your decisions to be stupid ones."

"I believe that in the category of stupid decisions, your list runs longer," Birkhoff reminded him. "Do I have to remind you what exhibit A is?"

Michael knew Nikita was not a mistake, but of course, Birkhoff couldn't.

"Fine," Michael said instead. "You're dismissed."

"Thanks, Professor Michael."

Alex's phone was going off, buzzing atop the kitchen counter. The possibilities were Nathan or someone from Divison. (Nikita had a cell phone all to herself.) She didn't like either of those options, so she just stared at the phone from the couch for a while.

At buzz number one, Alex thought, "Oh, crap, my phone is ringing. Someone I really don't want to talk to is calling me."

Buzz two: "I hope it's not Nathan. I don't want to confront him after what I did. Geez, I was cold."

Buzz three: "But if it's Division, there aren't very many reasons it could be good."

Buzz four: "If you don't answer, you'll either come off cold or irresponsible."

So, before it went to voicemail, Alex approached the counter and flipped open her cell phone.

"Hello?" she asked gingerly.

"Hello, Alex," the sultry voice of Amanda greeted her. "You're presence is requested at Division."

"Why?"

"You may be filled in later by yours truly," she assured. Alex didn't like her tone. She didn't like hearing Amanda's voice at all, for it implied that she was around, but this voice, scheming and careful, like she didn't want to spoke a wild animal, did not make Alex comfortable. "For now, your required to just stay in your apartment until someone comes to retrieve you."

Alex frowned. "Retrieve me?"

She hesitated, carefully considering her answer when she replied, "Yes, Alex. Stay put. And don't bother fighting back."

"What's going on?" she demanded. "Why can't I just go quietly?"

"Because you won't," she answered simply. "At least, not when you discover what you're coming for."

Before Alex could interrogate her further, her door came crashing into her apartment. In the doorway were two guys in suits obviously from Division. One of them held a syringe.

Alex went on offensive first. She charged the two men, calculating what her moves would be, where she would hit, whether or not they needed to be killed. Nothing came to mind immediately, so she just began kicking and punching.

But these guys were well-trained, and they caught or dodged every blow. Perhaps Alex should have chosen to be on defense, because it was all too easy for the men to find an opening and plunge the syringe into Alex's neck.

She moaned quietly as the needle went into her, then collapsed to the ground unconscious.


	4. Innocent

It might get a little unrealistic, guys. Sorry if I fudge medical details and do things that aren't actually possible in the future.

I don't own Nikita or anything to do with it.

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><p>Just as Birkhoff was returning to his regular seat the computer room, he heard a wisp of a conversation Amanda was having with her cell phone. All he made out was, "Alex is currently detained and has been rendered unconscious."<p>

Birkhoff paused for a moment, curious. Was Alex being punished? He listened more closely.

"Yes, she's too be implemented in an hour."

Implemented? Birkhoff wasn't sure what that meant, but it was better than cancellation.

"I plan to make her aware of the implementation. We'll see how it effects her. Birkhoff can help with the process."

Birkhoff sighed. More work. It's not like he had time for much else.

"Yes, cancellation is quite a possibility."

There was the deadly word. He frowned again, wondering what Alex could have done just as Amanda hung up her phone.

"Birkhoff," she called to him.

"What is it?" he sighed.

"You and I are requested in the medical room."

"Can I ask why?"

"You can be patient and find out when you get there," she snapped.

Birkhoff rolled his eyes, but followed her to the medical room anyway. When he arrived, Alex was lying face up on a cot, looking dead.

"This is Alex," Amanda told him.

"Yes, I know, thanks," he said. "I can think of a lot of inappropriate reasons why you'd want me in the same room as an unconscious Alex."

"You can save your fantasies for later, Birkhoff. You're here to help implant a pair of bugs into Alex so we can hear what she's up to and talk to her at all times.

"Is that not a bit extreme?"

"Not under her circumstances."

"What are her circumstances?"

"Confidential," she told him smugly. She held something up, probably one of the things that was about to go into Alex. "I want you to wire this bug to yours and my personal computers. Check up on Alex regularly. We've got quite the troublemaker on our hands."

"Can I ask why I'm assigned to stalk Alex?"

"We suspect her of being up to some juvenile activities understood to be prohibited by Division," she explained. "I'm a busy woman, so I can't track her at all times. You, on the other hand, are usually behind a computer anyway. However, I don't want to leave Alex surveillance up to you. I don't entirely trust you."

"_Ouch_."

She ignored him. "Just save sound files," she demanded, "and send the interesting ones to my computer in case I miss them. I do plan to partake in occasional surveillance as well, but just in case I miss a beat or to. And I notice something, and you don't report it, don't get used to having all ten fingers. Do you understand?"

"You got it, boss," he said simply, but he was actually quite uneasy about the task. Her took the chips from Amanda and retreated back to the infamous computer room, where he almost lazily programmed the bug and speaker. It was easy, because he was so obviously genius. He wired the thing to the appropriate machines, and was finished within an hour. With a job well done, he took the item back to the lab, where it was probably to be used as some sort of blackmail device for Alex.

He suddenly felt insanely guilty.

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><p>"She should wake up any minute now," Alex faintly heard Amanda say.<p>

Alex hesitated before revealing that she'd just reached consciousness. Eventually, curiosity won her over. She slowly opened her eyes.

"There's our girl," Birkhoff declared.

"Welcome back to reality, Alex," Amanda said, returning to her cool, sultry nature.

"Good to be back," Alex said. Her voice was scraggly. She must have been out a while.

"Do you have any idea as to what's going on?"

"In case you haven't noticed, I've recently returned to consciousness. Of course I don't know."

"I'm anxiously awaiting the catfight," Birkhoff muttered.

"Then allow me to fill you in," Amanda began coolly. "Do you feel any pain anywhere?"

"My . . . my ears hurt," she realized, switching to a sitting position. "Or my head, or something."

"More specifically, the area just beneath your ears," she explained. "Don't worry. We were able to avoid the tattoo."

"Goody."

"There is now a device in your head that can record anything you say or hear," she continued. "If you speak, we can hear it. If someone speaks to you, we can hear it. If you whisper, we can hear it. If you open a door, we can hear it. In fact, we can even speak back to you whenever we please, and you can hear it in your head."

"Why? That's creepy."

Amanda suddenly lost her coolness. She strutted up to Alex and leaned right up to her ear, hissing just low enough for only Alex to hear.

"_Because I know about Nathan_."

Alex gasped, mostly at the irony. "There's nothing going on between me and Nathan," she whispered back desperately, honestly.

"Then you have nothing to worry about," Amanda said, returning to normal volume. A confused look crossed Birkhoff's face.

But she did. She spoke to Nikita and Michael. She could write them notes, but if the bug was as sensitive as Amanda was implying, they would hear the pen scratch, and one might ask what was being written.

"That's an invasion of privacy," she pleaded.

"You don't find much of that in this place, honey," Birkhoff told her patronizingly.

"Privacy is a privilege, Alex," Amanda told her. "We believe you've lost that privilege. It's your job to prove you still deserve it."

"Who's '_we_',?" Alex inquired. "Who else believes this?"

"Believes what?" Birkhoff demanded, frustrated the girls had decided to whisper at the exciting part.

They ignored him.

"Only me," she told her, "but I'm merely an extent of Division, and Division is a _we_."

"How noble you are," Alex scoffed.

"But rest assured, Alex," Amanda continued, crossing her arms, "I'm not afraid to go to Percy at the first recorded evidence of your irresponsibility."

"Can I go home and be innocent now?" Alex requested.

"You can be innocent wherever you wish to, an opportunity I'm afraid you're not fully taking advantage of."

"Whatever. Can I go?"

"Stay here for a few more minutes," Amanda said, seeming almost compassionate. "Let the anesthesia fully wear off. Birkhoff, as soon as she leaves Division parameters, please activates both of her implements. You can go after you put away your gear. Goodbye, Alex."

Amanda strutted out of the room, not looking back. Alex watched her leave disdainfully.

"I really don't like her," she muttered.

"Who does?" Birkhoff shrugged, beginning to gather his gear. "What am I supposed to be listening for whenever I'm cyber-stalking you?"

"Nothing," she snapped. "I'm not doing anything wrong."

"Then what does Amanda _think _you're doing?" he asked instead.

"It doesn't matter," she said. "I'm not doing it," and before she could stop herself, she added, "anymore."

"Anymore?" he repeated. "So you're not totally innocent?"

"I am now. That's all that matters," she said, not bothering to correct herself. Defending the slip-up would only make her seem guiltier. She was, perhaps, _too _good of a liar.

"Well, just be on your best behavior and maybe that machine in your head will be out as quickly as it came," he suggested.

"Can I ask a favor?" Alex suddenly implored.

"Sure you can," Birkhoff nodded, "the question is whether or not I can agree to it."

"Don't watch me," she beseeched. "You can pretend to keep Amanda off your back, but I'm begging you, please, don't do it."

"If you're so innocent, then why shouldn't I?"

"Girls like their privacy," Alex explained calmly. "What if I sing in the shower or something? I don't want you hearing that." Or my secret plotting with Nikita and Michael, she added in her head.

"I don't think I'd make fun of you _too badly," he teased._

"I'm serious, Birkhoff," she said, become suddenly quite intense. "Division has taken away my future, my past, and my love life. I would like to retain whatever is left of my privacy."

"Yeah, well," Birkhoff began, "Division has taken my career, my fame, and my family, and my . . . and, you know, a lot, but Percy is on me twenty-four/seven. We all have to make sacrifices, my friend."

"I'll be your friend if you don't watch me."

"That's not even a tempting offer."

"What do you want then?" Alex pleaded. "Do you want money? Glory? And escape route out of Division? I can give you that if you just don't watch me."

Birkhoff eyed her quizzically. "And how are you supposed to get your hands on that?"

Alex bit her lip. She'd revealed to much. "I'm desperate," she said as a cover up.

"Well, don't just go offering things if you can't follow through. I might get my hopes up."

"You want to get out of Division?" she pressed curiously.

"Don't most people?"

Alex thought over her next words carefully. She knew was Birkhoff was a perplexing mixture of adorability and irritability, but now that now she had to decide whether or not to trust him. She hesitated for a long time, and Birkhoff didn't help her think. He just kept staring, adding monumental pressure to her decision.

What would Nikita think? Nikita had been friends with Birkhoff, had passed up the opportunity to kill him plenty of times. But that didn't necessarily add up to trust.

But with a constant bug, Alex couldn't talk to Nikita safely, ever. She couldn't go anywhere without it being heard that she was somewhere else. There was too much to lose. So Alex decided, by default, to trust Birkhoff.

"If you unwire my bug from Amanda's personal computer," Alex began slowly, "I can show you an exit from Division."

Birkhoff frowned, seeming unconvinced.

"Show me."


	5. Significant Other

You know how it goes.

No rights to Nikita.

* * *

><p>"Where are we going?" Birkhoff asked impatiently, eyeing the lockers they passed.<p>

"Did you want to see the escape route or not?"

"This hall leads to an air vent," he reminded her.

"For a geek, you're not too smart."

"Well, for a hot chick, you're not good company."

"Shut up." Alex led them forward, to the air vent Birkhoff had predicted. It was round, with a thick, dark metal barrier. "See, genius? You could fit through it."

"An air vent is the escape?" Birkhoff said. "That's so very Toy Story."

"Well, that's the way it is," she shrugged. Then she turned back to him purposefully and said, "Now go unwire the bug, please."

Amanda had said her surveillance would start as soon as she left Division, but she may have decided to start early. She had to get this done fast, and using as vague wording as possible.

"Hold your horses, Alex," Birkhoff said, holding up a hand. "You may have just led me to any old air vent. How do I know this doubles as an escape?"

"Do what I asked," she began, choosing her words carefully, "then maybe I'll let you in."

"No way, little girl," he rejected. "Show me the exit first."

She tensed at the precise words, but figured Amanda would've spoken to her over the implant at the first sign of villainy. "Fine," she huffed. "Help me open it."

The each gripped the left end of the metal and heaved. It swung open droopily at the hinges, opening to a dark hole teeming with possibilities, both good and bad.

"Ladies first," Birkhoff beckoned onward.

"Coward," Alex muttered, crawling into the whole.

Behind her back, Birkhoff stuck out his tongue.

They scooted through a wide, concrete hole, not dissimilar to a sewer. Alex emerged first at the other side, dropping herself onto a platform made of the same material as the vent entrance. Birkhoff popped his head out after her.

"Crap," he breathed, noticing the bottomless bit just beneath the platform.

"Watch your step," she warned.

Carefully, Birkhoff stepped onto the platform after her. "This doesn't look like an exit," he noted. "Unless suicide is your idea of escape."

She pointed up to a ladder situated on the wall to their right. "If you climb up that ladder and push open the metal grate, then run really fast, Division would be long gone."

"Is that right?" Birkhoff mused, looking up. He's been stuck in here for six years. It seemed impossible that escape could be so simple. It was as if he'd been thrust into a dream. Not a good or bad one, but something unreal.

"How'd you find this?" he asked, still gazing upward dreamily.

"No questions," Alex rejected promptly. "Now deactivate the bug, will you?"

"Yeah, about that . . ."

"I am capable of slicing your face open," she warned, hearing denial before it came.

"Yeah, I get that," he began, "but I think Amanda would notice that lack of recordings."

"What?" Alex exclaimed. "But you said-!"

"I thought you were lying, Alex," he said, as such a thought should be obvious. "But don't worry, I can still get you off the hook, if you'd be patient."

Alex crossed her arms skeptically, glaring dangerously at Birkhoff. "What can you do then?"

"You'd still have to be bugged," he began. Seeing Alex's expression, he continued hastily, "but only for a little while, like a few days or so. I can record up until then. Don't do anything too explosive during that time. After that time is over, I can take the sounds from those three days, put them on loop, and send those to Amanda's computer instead. I'll still be able to hear what you're _actually _up to, though."

"How long will I have to be good?" she asked.

"I'd say a week, just to be safe," he suggested, "but try to keep quiet as possible. If she notices you dropping a frying pan in the same location way too often or saying the same thing every day, she could get suspicious."

"You're asking me to not speak to anyone for a week?" Alex frowned.

"Do you want freedom or not?"

"What if I'm called into Division and have to talk to someone?"

"You don't have to be monitored while your inside Division, especially if your having private discussions with Amanda," he explained. "I'll probably be required to turn off your bug while your here."

Alex thought through this, then nodded. "Okay, but if you're escaping Division, how will you be around the execute all this?"

"I'm not planning on escaping Division," Birkhoff scoffed.

"Then why'd you want to see the escape?"

"Well, the possibility of freedom is heartening," he said, gazing up dreamily at the newly discovered exit. "You know, if things get to bad, I'll know there's a way out. But I doubt I'll ever use it. I'm not, like, Nikita or something, all genius and inconspicuous. I could probably be found."

"I thought you prided yourself on being a genius," Alex smirked.

"In Division, behind a computer, I can be," he admitted. "Hiding out in an oak tree, not so much."

"Nikita's not hiding in an oak tree," she chuckled.

"And how would you know?"

Alex faltered. "Just . . . it doesn't seem like her."

Birkhoff shrugged, than started back toward the entrance.

"Hey, Birkhoff?" Alex spun around to face him.

He glanced over his shoulder and raised his eyebrows.

"Even after you disarm the bug to Amanda's computer, did you say you'll still be able to hear everything I'm doing?"

"Yep," he confirmed. "But don't worry. I'm not a tattletale."

"You've given away Nikita's location plenty of times," Alex recalled.

"Well, yeah, it's Nikita," he rolled his eyes. "It's kind of rule number one here to inform Percy of leads on Nikita. But it's not like you work for her or anything, right?"

Alex's throat tightened.

"You probably just want to get with your little boyfriend," he continued.

"I don't have a boyfriend," Alex sighed. Before she thought about it, she added, "At least, not anymore."

"On the rocks?" Birkhoff raised an eyebrow. "How civilian-like of you. Any particular reason for this?"

Alex glared at him.

"Sorry," he faltered. "It's not my place to ask.

"It's fine," Alex sighed. "It's just, deep and complicated and intense and once I get started, you probably won't even care."

"Says who?" Birkhoff scoffed, feigning being seriously offended.

"Just go," Alex urged.

Birkhoff sat defiantly at the edge of the exit to the silo, and Alex groaned.

"Your lowly opinion of me is offensive," he explained bigly. Using quite a mockingly sweet voice, he said, "Now tell Therapist Birkhoff your problems."

Alex glared some more.

"I'm waiting."

More glaring.

"Bottled up emotions are no way to-"

"_Birkhoff!_" she practically shouted, sound vibes radiating through the large silo. "Would you stop mocking me for a _second_. You've probably never had a significant other, so you probably don't know what it's like to _lose one._"

Birkhoff suddenly lost all his humor, as if it'd been sucked out of the room. His eyebrows creased together and his muscles tightened.

The room was still tense and empty-feeling from Alex's outbursts. She was still glaring, but her face was softening gradually.

Without another word, but one surprising returned glare that seemed, possibly, _harder _than Alex's, he got up and walked out of the silo.

Alex, dumbstruck and confused, followed him.

"Birkhoff?" she called, shutting the silo entrance behind her. "Birkhoff?"

"What?" he spun around from his position at the end of the hallway, hands stuffed in his pockets. He still seemed hard and angry.

"What's the matter with you?" Alex asked, without really thinking about it. His sudden shutdown had gotten her curious, despite how infuriated she was with him.

"A multitude of things," he replied, turning around again.

"Birkhoff," she called again. "Why the sudden loss of charm and charisma?"

He paused, then looked over his shoulder. There was a heavy silence between them before he said, just barely loud enough for Alex to hear it, "I do too know what it's like to lose a significant other."

He began walking again, leaving Alex speechless.

"I think I'll go enable your chip now," he announced listlessly. "Have fun being quiet."


	6. Silent Treatment

If I may be so forward, may I tell you about a Balex one-shot up on my page? It's called "The D Word" You may check that one out if you wish.

Now, here's this one.

No rights to Nikita.

* * *

><p>Day one of silence, and Alex was pretty miserable.<p>

She sat on the bed in her apartment, leafing through a magazine and being careful that none of the pages made sounds that were too noticeable.

But the required silence wasn't the worst part.

Birkhoff could talk to her through the bug in her head.

"How's day one, Alex?" Birkhoff asked, his voice holding no sympathy. His dreary moment near the silo was obviously over. He's gotten his humor back. But now, there was a touch more spite when he and Alex spoke. He seemed vengeful now.

Alex didn't answer.

"Silent treatment?" Birkhoff feigned offense. "Fine. This means I can basically say whatever I please to you right now."

Oh, no, Alex thought.

"Well, first off, you have terrible taste in quiet hobbies," he said. "A trashy magazine? How terribly mundane."

Alex bit her lip to keep from sighing. Or shouting.

"In case you're worried," he began, "the bug can't hear this. It's on the opposite side of your head and your thick skull will probably insulate just fine."

Alex pretended not to be relieved. She was busy counting, flipping pages at somewhat common intervals.

"But just in case, I should whisper," Birkhoff murmured. "Perhaps, when you're just about to fall asleep, and it's dark and stormy and you just watched a horror movie."

Alex bit her lip painfully.

"Things like _'I'm watching you' _or _"There's something outside your window_."

She pursed her lips and stretched her neck, contently picturing herself punching Birkhoff squarely in the nose. A satisfying crack. Blood gushing all over his face. Ahh...

"Okay, I thing I'm being mean now," he chuckled.

_You think._

"Let's talk about serious things, like terrorism, global warming, or our feelings. You start."

As expected, Alex stayed silent.

"Fine, I can go first," he conceded. "I don't like handshakes. I don't know, maybe something's wrong with me, but I just down like them. I like handshakes that lead to bro-hugs, and secret handshakes that are complex and well-thought out, but normal handshakes? Ugh. Men do not need to hold other men's hands."

Alex smirked despite herself.

"Let's go deeper, then, shall we?" he continued. "When I was taken by Division, my life pretty much spiraled downward. Sure I can show off how amazing and intelligent I am without government interference, but hey, I no longer have a girlfriend. The selfish side of me tells me how great that is, but the hopeless romantic side kind of wants to kick every computer I see in the face. Or screen, if you will."

"You had a girlfriend?" Alex blurted, clapping a hand over her mouth as soon as she said it.

There was a short silence. Alex waited, startled at herself for her lack of control. Birkhoff was startled, too, and his eyebrows scrunched together behind his computer screen.

"Careful, Alex," he said. "I can edit that out later, but for now, our lovely Amanda can still hear you." He dropped his voice to a whisper, "And if you say anything that gets me in trouble, or gets me shoved into a therapy session. . ."

"Then edit this out, too," Alex blurted again. "What happened to your-"

"_Alex_!" Birkhoff hissed. "A little discretion, please. You're a spy. Use code or something."

Alex realized that his girlfriend was something he didn't want Amanda knowing about.

"So what's up, Birkhoff?" she asked.

This was her version of spy code. Birkhoff knew exactly what she meant.

"I don't want to talk about it," he said. "You're the one with the questionable love life."

If Amanda hadn't chimed in by now, she probably wasn't listening right then. She added, "Is that what you meant? When you said you knew what it was like to lose someone?"

Birkhoff hesitated, staring intently at his computer screen as if glaring right at Alex.

"Yeah," he said finally. "It is."

"Was it a hard break-up?" she continued, not seeming able to shut up.

"Not really," Birkhoff answered. "She was killed."

Alex's jaw dropped. "By who?"

"Who else? The puppeteers who run our very lives."

"_Division_?"

"Bingo."

"Then why did you agree to work for them?" Alex asked, shocked.

"Because they told me that if I didn't, I'd meet the same fate."

Alex's head reeled from this information. Birkhoff was emotionless, egotistical, and at times funny man that worked long hours doing admittedly important things behind a Division computer. He wasn't supposed to have _feelings_.

"Satisfied, honey? Can we move on?"

Alex didn't hear the words. Merely that Birkhoff was speaking. Whatever he said, she felt appropriate response was . . .

"I'm so sorry."

Birkhoff, put off by such deplorable sympathy, did not accept it. "Well, next time you're all angst-ridden over dumping your boyfriend, remember that at least you lost him by choice. Now go back to your perfectly timed magazine leafing. You've just added about ten minutes to your silent time."

"What? Can't you just-?"

"Ten minutes, three seconds, young lady."

Alex huffed, and didn't need confirmation that this added another second or so. She was just about to settle back into her comfortable antagonism towards Birkhoff when her phone, her secret, Nikita-only phone, starting ringing.

She stared at the lamp in which is was hidden, weighing her options.

That phone wasn't meant to call Alex with. It was usually for Alex to call Nikita because she was in trouble. Nikita would only call if . . . if. . .

If she was in trouble.

At this realization, Alex bolted for the phone, hidden in her lamp stand, and starting texting furiously.

_Birkhoff can hear this_, she reminded her. _Amanda _could _hear this._

It didn't matter. Whatever ensued from that, Nikita could get her out of. It was only right to make sure she was okay.

_Text me instead. Situation. _she typed hastily.

"What are you up to, Alex?" Birkhoff asked quizzically. "Texting? Kids these days."

_"Shut up, _Birkhoff!" she snapped. She wasn't worried about Amanda hearing it. She'd probably say that a lot in the week.

Birkhoff huffed indigently.

It was agonizing waiting for the reply. Seconds passed that dragged on teasingly, seeming to jeer, _This is really stressing you out isn't it?_

Then, just as she was about to put the phone back, accuse herself of overreacting, it starting going off.

She opened it quickly, before the sound could truly register, and her jaw dropped as she read:

_Help! Michael and I in trouble!_


	7. Morality

Sorry this took longer than usual to post, lovelies. There have been some computer issues, among other things. I apologize for how weird the plot may become from here. And, once again, may I advertise a Balex one-shot up on my profile? Ya know, if you have any spare time. ;)

* * *

><p>Alex resisted squealing and furiously replied, asking for details on Nikita and Michael's situation. She counted every second it took for her to get a reply. What if Nikita had lost the phone she'd gained access, too? What if she was too busy being tortured? Or dead?<p>

This eventually became a stressful though process, and Alex stopped thinking about it and just counted and waited and prayed and repeated.

Six-hundred and forty seven seconds later, the phone beeped, and she opened the phone to read the reply so quickly, she wasn't sure the sound went on long enough for the bug to even register it.

_Dungeon ?I think Divison._

"Birkhoff!" she snapped immediately. "Turn off the bug!"

"We've been through this, sweetheart. It's impractical," he droned.

"You don't get it!" she screeched.

"Chill, Alex," Birkhoff frowned, wishing he could see what the big deal was. "All your talking just makes more editing duty for me."

"I don't care if it'll send a strike team after me, just _turn off the bug_," she demanded.

"Why's that, Alex?" a new voice chimed in. A sultry voice that could be placed with a sultry redhead.

Alex tensed immediately. "Amanda," she frowned.

"What's the hurry, Alex?" she asked. "Places to be?"

"Things to attend to," she replied. Mentioning Nikita's troubles was out of the question, lest they both be killed.

"Why can't we listen in?" Amanda inquired.

"A girl likes her privacy," Alex answered coolly. "You're a girl, last time I checked. You should know."

"_Meow_," Birkhoff cut in.

Alex rolled her eyes.

"Well, I wouldn't want to stop you from attending to your . . . things," Amanda drawled. "How much of a racket do you think that would make?"

"Quite a bit," she answered honestly.

"You'd prefer privacy, wouldn't you, Alex?" she prodded.

"What're you getting at?" Alex scowled.

"You don't want the bug, I assume," she began. "Even if you're not doing anything controversial, you don't want us to hear whatever you're doing, isn't that right?"

". . .I suppose."

"Well, then how about we take those bugs out of you?"

Alex didn't even take time to get hopeful. Amanda was too slimy.

"I'm willing to have the bug extracted," she explained, "as soon as you do something for me."

"Isn't that my role at Division as it is?"

"I'm glad you think so," Alex could practically hear her smiling.

"Just tell me the assignment," she barked.

Amanda got right to it. "Your target is Maximus Liverfield. He's in the ranks of a French political organization. They don't have any particular beliefs, but when they find something they believe in, they express their ideas quite violently. Knowing this, Liverfield is heavily guarded most of time. However, all people get at least some privacy, right?"

"So I've heard," Alex groaned.

She heard a round of static she took for a chuckle. Amanda continued, "Your assignment is too invade that privacy."

"Well, I've learned from the best."

She ignored her. "Liverfield is allowed a certain degree of privacy when he's in the bathroom or . . . or in the company of a lady."

"The company of . . . what are you suggesting?"

Again, ignored. "Of course, you probably won't be able to get within fifty feet of Liverfield with any sort of weapon easily, but from a few trusted sources, we've learned that once his trust is earned, he let's you do almost anything without guard scrutiny. But I'm not sure _trust _is the right word. You're to earn his . . . acceptance."

"How am I supposed to earn that?" Alex asked.

"Low cut tops and high-hemmed skirts," Birkhoff cut in.

There was a pause, then Amanda said tightly, "Gold star, Birkhoff."

Another pause, then both Birkhoff and Alex exclaimed, "_What_?"

"Your job is to seduce Liverfield," Amanda stated matter-of-factly. Alex was about to protest, but Amanda cut her off. "You might want to know that Liverfield lost his wife on their second anniversary. You does not develop relationships easily. Usually, he aims for the physical first and the emotional comes along later, if at all."

"You sound like you speak from experience," Birkhoff cut in.

Amanda ignored him. "It is common in Divison for its agents to be asked to perform varying types of mission. This includes those involving physical relationships with targets. Alex, you will probably be asked to. . .well, I'm sure you can connect the dots."

Birkhoff, who was sipping a Red Bull, promptly spit it out all over his computer screen.

"_No_," Alex barked. "No. Not . . . just, _no._"

"Have it your way," Amanda said. "Bugs stay until further notice."

But Nikita . . .

"Wait," Alex protested. "I . . . I . . . Fine. Okay."

"What?" Birkhoff exclaimed. "Alex, are you listening to yourself?"

"Stay out of this, Birkhoff," she said harshly.

"Don't sound so shocked, you two," Amanda said. "This is a part of being indebted to Division."

"I have never once been asked to do this, Amanda," Birkhoff pointed out coldly.

"Well, that's understandable," Alex scoffed.

"You know, I'm defending your morality," Birkhoff complained flatly. "You might want to show me some respect."

"Well, that doesn't change your personality."

"Your banter is charming," Amanda droned on. "As I said, Alex, once you complete this mission- and not just the hard parts, actually getting the intel -the bugs should come out. We plan to start the mission next Friday, so-"

"No, let's start it now."

There was a surprised pause, which probably registered as shock under Amanda terms.

"Why the rush?" she asked slowly.

"Let's get this over with."

She could almost hear Amanda smirking from the speaker embedded in her skull. "Very well. Come by in an hour."

There was no hanging up to do on Alex's part, so she just let the silence comfort her. Until it was shattered by her embedded nerd voice.

"What are you doing, Alex?" he demanded.

Alex ignored him and began leafing through her magazine again, though there was no point to her timed silence anymore. She should be good. She should be quiet.

"Alex, I know you can hear me."

Nothing. More leafing.

Frustrated with the women in his life, Birkhoff bolted up from his computer, along with microphone that came with it, and started pounding out of the room. He wasn't sure where Amanda was, but he had some things to say once he found her.


	8. Loyalty

No rights to Nikita.

This chapter has a lot less banter than usual.

* * *

><p>Amanda was in her therapy room of doom and, in the irony of things, leafing through a fashion magazine.<p>

"What are you thinking, Amanda!" Birkhoff scolded as he entered the too-white enclosure.

"What do you mean?" she asked, sounding bored and complacent, but still maintaining her seemingly perpetual sultry tone.

"Sending Alex on your gross little sexy mission to gain intel or whatever," he clarified. "That's essentially _trafficking_, Amanda, and if her files are correct, she's experienced more then enough of that in her lifetime. What, do you think you can take advantage of her because she's used to it. You were always a little psychotic, but seriously, this is crossing the line!"

Amanda looked up calmly from her magazine. "You were browsing Alex's files?" she asked.

Birkhoff scoffed at the irrelevancy. "I help make the files. I'm the computer whiz around here. Now what are you thinking?"

Amanda closed her primly magazine, and it made a soft crinkle as she put it on the tabletop in front of her.

"This may come as a shock, Seymour, but I do have some sense of decency," she replied. "While Alex may not be a recruit anymore, she still is subject to tests every once in a while. This is just another one. Then again, information gathers from the target might actually prove beneficial."

"So you're just going to let Alex go in blind and see what comes out?" Birkhoff asked.

"Alex is a servant of Division. These kinds of missions happen."

"She was a _sex slave_, Amanda. You think you could make an exception?"

"We don't entertain special cases in Division," she told him. "We want recruits to feel like equals."

"You're twisted!" Birkhoff exclaimed, throwing up his hands. "What could this possible test Alex for? Besides STDs?"

Amanda sighed. "You think you're so funny."

"I know I'm hilarious, but that isn't my point."

Amanda scrutinized him, sweeping over him, her gaze not seeming to focus on anything in particular. She didn't lose her expression and stood, sliding over to him. The scrutiny made Birkhoff uncomfortable.

"What?" he snapped.

"Why do you care so much?"

"Huh?"

"What's your motivation?" she rephrased. "What's it to you what happens to Alex?"

Birkhoff answered quickly. He'd expected some sort of suspicion from her and was prepared to defend himself. He wasn't sure why. Intuition, perhaps. Or maybe his snark was on the ball all the time.

"This may come as something as a shock to you, Amanda, but I have what some might call decency. And morality. And loyalty."

"Loyalty? To Alex?"

"To my _friends_," he clarified grimly.

"I haven't pegged you as the loyal-to-friends type."

"Well, I haven't informed you, because we're not friends."

"I see," she said, seeming unfazed.

"Aren't you supposed to be friends with Alex?" Birkhoff asked. "Or at least a mother figure. Or, like, a therapist or whatever your job is."

"I do my best to be a friend to all in service of Division."

"Do most mother figures ship their children off on sex missions?"

"If it's important enough, I suppose they would," Amanda answered.

"Well, then you're clearly deranged and should go find an actual therapist. You put the psycho in psychologist."

"Well, then I'm not the only psycho, then," she informed him. "I helped push this mission forward because I felt it was right, but I didn't suggest it in the first place."

"Well, the fact that you feel you should defend yourself should tell you something about how right this mission actually is," Birkhoff pointed out.

Amanda just stared at him. She didn't respond.

"Who did suggest the mission?" Birkhoff asked, suddenly curious.

"That's none of your business."

"Is he feeling guilty, too? Doesn't want his name associated with the whole deal?"

Her voice rose, "Considering how immaturely you're dealing with my involvement, I don't want you to know either. You might run off and throw another fit. You should really keep your emotions in check, Birkhoff."

His voice rose right back. "Well, it's better than having no emotions at all."

"Emotional detachment is a _strength_ in Division. A weapon," she snarled.

"Too bad it's a character flaw just about everywhere else."

"Do not tell me about how wrong and unethical emotional detachment is, Birkhoff. We both know you take the crown," she accused. She drew energy off the anger that flooded Birkhoff's expression and continued, "You bounce off every remotely serious issue with snark so you won't have to face it and you prance around with arrogance so you don't have to admit what a low opinion you have of yourself."

"Stop it!"

She was on a role now. She was merciless. "One of the most capable hackers in the world, yet you couldn't find us before we could find you. You couldn't hide from us. That tortures you. You're stuck here. You lost your freedom because of your incapability. You couldn't save yourself when you were caught. You couldn't save Nikita when she left. You don't think you can save Alex from whatever you're trying to save her from. And you couldn't save Lauren."

Birkhoff's face flushed, and too many emotions shot through him for him to properly process them all.

"Do _not_ mention Lauren around me," he demanded through gritted teeth.

"Lauren Shaw," Amanda said wistfully, striking as many nerves as she could. She'd lost sight of her reasons for arguing with Birkhoff. Something about Alex? Something about motivations? Those were out the window now. Now she was being cruel. Probably a side-effect of the emotional detachment. "She was pretty. Natural blonde, that's hard to come by these days. And she could look in anything, even though sweatpants she usually preferred."

"If you have anything good in you, stop talking," he growled.

"She was probably blonde because of all that time in the sun. While you were shut in on the computer, she could be found outside. Usually with a laptop, of course, but outside all the same. While you were busy changing your grades in your college computer records, Lauren was blogging about the cutest things her nieces did."

"Amanda . . ." his voice cracked, and he hoped Amanda thought it was because of anger.

"I'm the one who ordered her killed, you know. Percy noted your talent, but I'm the one who knew what would force you onto our side. I can order all kinds of things to be done to you. I can do all kinds of things to you myself. So if I were you, I'd think it best to not question my decisions and go back to your miserable life."

"You're insane," Birkhoff informed her, abandoning all snark and aiming straight for blunt honesty.

She shrugged and went back to sit down, picking up her magazine. "You're excused."

Having nothing effective left to say, he simply mustered up some useless volume to his voice and said, almost comically, "I don't like you very much!"

Amanda shifted her eyes up to him. "Oh, dear me," she droned.

Birkhoff scoffed, then turned to leave, closing the door behind him, leaving Amanda there. But a few seconds later, he peeked in again.

"Is that Jessica Alba on the cover of that magazine?"

Amanda gave him an are-you-serious? expression.

"You know what, no. I am not happy with you. And stuff!"

He slammed the door again, but it had even less of a powerful effect.

Amanda sighed.


	9. Metaphors and Misunderstandings

This took longer than normal to update, huh? Some reasons. One, I'm out of pre-made chapters for this story. Two, I started another fanfic also competing for my attention. You know what could motivate me? Reviews. *broad grin* Optional, of course. Your reviews have been lovely so far. (HAHA I USED THE WORD MOTIVATE AND THIS STORY IS CALLED . . . nevermind.)

This chapter might have been longer, but I wanted to pull something out for you people soon. So here ya go.

No rights to Nikita.

* * *

><p>Amanda usually helped the agents pick out outfits for their missions, but Alex wasn't up to looking at her right now. She was one of the last people Alex wanted to see. Only slightly higher on the list was Birkhoff.<p>

But he wasn't going to start doing as he wished now.

"Alex?" she heard in her head.

She sighed deeply.

"Alex, why won't you talk to me?" Birkhoff pleaded.

Fittingly, she didn't answer.

"I talked to Amanda," he said quietly. "About that mission I overheard."

"…and?" Alex pressed with enough hostility in her voice for Birkhoff not to make a big deal about her finally saying something.

"It didn't go well," he said, a little snark seeping into his tone. "She threw the dead girlfriend in my face."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

"I'm not asking you for pity, sweetheart," he said.

"It's quiet on your end," Alex suddenly noticed. There was no signature tapping of keys or background discussions. "Where are you?"

"Umm . . ."

"Are you in the silo? Are you escaping?"

"What? No. I'm not an idiot."

"Then where are you?"

"I'm . . ." Birkhoff stammered. "Look, don't hold this against me, but I'm outside your apartment."

Alex stopped in her tracks, unaware she had been pacing. "Umm . . ." she hesitated, "why is that exactly?"

"I thought you weren't talking to me, so I came in person. And now it's kind of creepy as opposed to charmingly compassionate."

"How'd you know my address?" Alex wondered aloud.

"We have it on file. Division assigned this apartment to you."

"Are you . . . are you outside right now?"

" . . . yes."

Alex walked cautiously up to the door and opened it. There was Birkhoff, outside, on something that looked like a cell phone, but way fancier. He pulled it away from his ear and flipped it close.

"Hi, Alex," he waved weakly. "Fancy meeting you here."

"Back at you," Alex breathed.

He awkwardly held up the phone thing. "It's like a computer, but smaller. That's why I can't talk to your chip through it."

"Why are you here, Birkhoff," she asked hostilely.

"Mind your tone, missy," Birkhoff frowned. "Are you going to invite me in?"

"May I know your intentions first?"

"Completely taking advantage of you, and then maybe arson. Now let me in." Birkhoff brushed past her and into the room. Alex decided to let him through and closed the door behind him. "I was kidding about that, you know. I don't plan on taking advantage of you. I left my roofies back at Division."

"Your sense of humor could get you into trouble one day."

"I'm in Division. What's the worst that could happen?"

"Slow, torturous murder."

He shrugged. "Could be worse. At least I don't have AIDS."

Alex chortled shortly. "But seriously. Why are you here?"

"Hello. Welcome to another ill-fated attempt to talk you out of your dirty, little mission."

Alex rolled her eyes and sighed, putting her fingers to her temples. "It's not like a want to."

"Then don't," he said. "Gosh, life is so simple when you think about it."

"No, it's not," she disagreed. "There are a whole lot of aspects to this mission, Birkhoff. Consequences no matter what I choose to do. They link to each other in a bunch of ways, and I end up in a spiderweb of consequences. "

"Oh, gee. Your metaphors have convinced me of the moral rightness of the mission and I'm terribly sorry I've gotten involved."

"Gah!" Alex exclaimed. "Can you take anything seriously?"

He thought back to the conversation with Amanda. "Yup."

"You know, why _are _you involved anyway?"

"Huh?"

"Why do you care so much about what happens to me?" Alex prodded.

"I like to live under the inconvenient impression that we're friends," he explained. "Therefore, I feel obligated to help you out every once in a while."

"Would it be outrageous to ask you to stay out of my business?"

"Yes."

Alex scoffed and glared at him.

"What can I say?" Birkhoff shrugged. "I'm nosy."

Alex's expression didn't change. "You think you're so funny."

"Why do so many people doubt my hilarity these days? It's insulting."

"Can we be serious for a second, please?" Alex pleaded. "Why do you care so much?"

"And another thing," Birkhoff continued. "People keep questioning my motivations. How dishonorable do you think they are?"

"My concern is that they're misguided," Alex informed him.

"Misguided?" he frowned. "Is there some sort of misunderstanding going on here?"

"Yes. A massive one."

"Well, please, enlighten me," he offered.

Alex pursed her lips, her eyebrows straightening out as well as her expression became defensive.

"Secrets in Division? I disapprove."

"We're not in Division. We're in my apartment."

"Your _Division-funded _apartment."

"Can you just drop it?" Alex pleaded further.

"Is this a martyrdom thing? Taking this job so someone else won't have to?"

"That wasn't my motivation," she answered honestly, though she thought that was something to think about in the future.

This process of avoidance and vagueness could have gone all day if not for the knock on the door. Birkhoff and Alex both look toward the door at the sound.

"Visitors?" Birkhoff frowned. "You've been making friends out here?"

Alex hadn't much, but she had established one relationship in her allotted time outside Division headquarters.

Her body sagged dejectedly at Nathan's poor timing.

* * *

><p>What of my early thoughts was to make Nathan the villain of the story. Obviously, he's not as villainly as Amanda or Mystery Villain, but he might make some poor decisions soon...<p> 


	10. Fabulous Company

"Alex?" Nathan called out. "Alex?"

Alex kept silent. Birkhoff, while aching to reveal she was inside just to get on her nerves and be extra obnoxious today, followed her lead.

"Alex, I know you're in there."

He couldn't prove anything. She stayed silent.

"I saw you come in," Nathan continued.

"Well, would you mind not spying on her, dude?" Birkhoff blurted. "Honestly, she could press charges. Or just think you're really creepy."

Alex promptly grabbed a magazine off the coffee table and flung it at Birkhoff.

"Hey!" he exclaimed, trying futilely to deflect the weapon with his arms. "Quick, man, come in! She's assaulting me!"

"I can break your arm with my eyes closed!" Alex hissed.

But Birkhoff merely chuckled at her suffering.

"Please, Alex?" they heard from behind the door.

"Who's that?" Birkhoff asked more quietly.

"Old significant other," she replied listlessly.

"Ooh," Birkhoff pressed his hands together in exaggerated eagerness.

"Don't do anything stupid," she pleaded.

"Wouldn't dream of it, babydoll," he grinned broadly.

Alex approached the door and thrust it open quickly, as if ripping off a Band-Aid. As expected, Nathan was there. He was in a blue cotton shirt and jeans, and he pushed up the sleeves as if it were a nervous habit that Alex brought out of him.

"Hey," he greeted her.

"Hi."

He looked past her at the dresses laid out on the bed. "Are you going somewhere?"

"Yeah, um . . ." Well, it's not like telling him was the smartest option. "Yes, so you should go."

"Well, you can continue getting ready, but can we just talk?"

"Continue getting ready?" Birkhoff repeated, and Alex's heart sank. "Are you planning to watch her get dressed, you sick human being?"

Nathan leaned farther in, confused. Alex begrudgingly pushed the door farther aside to reveal Birkhoff, planted comfortable in an armchair with his feet on the table. He smiled smugly at Nathan's gaze. "Hiya," Birkhoff greeted him with a jolly wave.

"Um. . . hey," Nathan said slowly.

"Friend of Alex's?"

"Sort of," Nathan replied uncomfortably, pushing his left sleeve up. "Are you?"

"Oh, yeah, we're besties!"

"That's . . . that's nice."

Alex wanted to choke on the awkwardness.

"Is this a bad time?" Nathan asked.

"No," Alex began, "it's fine, it's just—"

"Actually, it's a terrible time," Birkhoff cut in. "It'd be ever so nice if you'd leave."

Alex agreed with him one hundred percent, but it was still one of those things you weren't supposed to say out loud.

"It's fine. Really, you can—"

"Alex," Birkhoff gave her a pointed look, tilting his face toward her. His voice became more forceful, but not demanding. More like he knew what was best for her. "He should go."

Alex sighed. "Yeah, you should go,"

Nathan furrowed his brow. "Is . . . is he someone from . . . from where you work?"

Alex nodded. He was under the impression that where she worked, Division, was a den of evil. By Alex's descriptions, most people would be under a similar impression. He was probably assuming Birkhoff was a nefarious evildoer.

"Yeah, but he's decent," he assured him.

"_Just _decent?" Birkhoff questioned. "Don't humble yourself to the company. Tell them what fabulous company you have."

They stared at him blankly.

He held up his hands. "I'm kidding! Geez!"

"You should go," Alex told Nathan.

"So you have time to talk to this clown, but you go through the trouble of shoving me out of your house?"

"Look, I'm sorry about that. I didn't invite him here."

"Yet, he's here. Alex, if you're in trouble, you and I can—"

"Wait, what?" Alex stopped him. He was jumping to the entirely wrong conclusions. "No, Birkhoff isn't here to punish me or something. He just came to talk."

"That's what I come for, and you keep kicking me out."

"Take a hint, blondie," Birkhoff jeered. "Maybe she just likes me more than she likes you."

"Why are you here?" Nathan called to him, seeming to not let go of his misinterpretation of the situation.

"Isn't it obvious? I'm helping Alex here pick dresses for the big day."

"Big day?"

"I'm kidding, dunderhead. Do I look like the fashionista type?"

"Yes, you're very pretty," Alex said.

The pair, for a split second, shared a smile.

Nathan looked between Birkhoff and Alex incredulously. It seemed he was stubbornly sticking to his false conclusion.

Oh, well.

"Yeah, you should still leave," Alex prodded.

Nathan stared at her loftily, but eventually agreed. "Fine," he said. "I guess I'll see you around, Alex."

Alex inwardly hoped she wouldn't. She closed the door as Nathan departed, then turned on her heels to face Birkhoff.

"You could've handled that better," she pointed out to him.

"I think I handled that terrifically."

Alex rolled her eyes and went back to her bed to examine all the dresses on it. "You're not going to talk me out of this mission, Birkhoff," she told him as she skimmed, "so you might as well make yourself useful." She picked up one form-fitting, but flowy red-orange dress made of some itchy fabric and one black-and-white dress with pleats and pockets at the sides and hips and held them out to him. "Which one is more seduction-y?"

Birkhoff shot her a look. "Are you serious?"

"Fine, don't help," she shrugged, turning back to her dresses.

Birkhoff sighed deeply. "Alex, I'm asking you as your friend. Don't do this."

"When did that happen?" Alex straightened up suddenly.

"What?"

She turned her head towards him. "When did we become friends exactly? Earlier this week, I could barely stand you."

Birkhoff shrugged. "Some things just sneak up on you, I suppose."

Alex shrugged to herself, then bent over her clothes again.

"Was that an attempt to change the subject?" Birkhoff asked suspiciously.

"Was it?" she smirked.

"Dangit, Alex!"

She giggled.

Birkhoff pushed himself out of the armchair and came to stand beside Alex who pretended not to notice him.

"Was that your old significant other out there?" he asked quietly, crossing his arms.

She looked up at him quickly before refocusing on her dress-picking quest. "Yep."

"He seemed nice."

"He was. He is. Doesn't really make for a relationship though."

"I'm not that nice, so I must be a great relationship partner."

"That's true," Alex chuckled. When Birkhoff raised an eyebrow at her, she backtracked, "The not being nice part. Not the partner thing."

Birhkoff chose not to respond to this. "I'm not going to talk you out of this mission, am I?"

"It's not likely."

"Well, then I don't have many other reasons to be here," Birkhoff sighed, letting his arms fall to his sides. "Keep in mind, I operate surveillance on the mission, so don't do anything to scandalous."

"You observe this mission?"

"I observe most of the missions," He began to walk toward the entrance, "so if there's something you aren't willing to do in front of me, don't do it on the mission either."

"I don't think that's reasonable to ask of me."

"Well, I'm asking anyway." He twisted the knob of the door and was halfway departed when he turned around and added, "I like the black dress, by the way. It's not as seduction-y. But it would look better on you."

He closed the door quietly behind him.

Alex stared after him for a long while, then turned her head back to the dresses. Her hand hovered over the black one for a moment, but she decided on the red-orange dress. It served her purposes better.

* * *

><p>Meh.<p>

It may seem like I'm slacking now. Just wait till school starts back up again.


	11. Beginnings

No rights to Nikita.

Thanks for reviews!

* * *

><p>Birkhoff closed the door quietly behind him, smiling. He'd left an impression on Alex, he knew he had. Whether or not she ran with it, that was up to her.<p>

He began to amble down the hallway and was still deep in thought about it when he nearly ran straight into Nathan.

"Excuse me," Birkhoff said, uncharacteristically polite.

"I've been waiting for you," Nathan said darkly.

Birkhoff looked up at him, confused. Nathan was glaring at him, and it would be intimidating if Nathan wasn't so unthreatening. More of the friendly, puppy dog type. "Come again?"

"Alex told me about what you people do, so you stay away Alex, you got it?" he demanded, pointing a finger at his chest.

Birkhoff chortled. "Okay, look buddy," he began, gingerly shoving the finger off of him. "You being Alex's knight in shining armor is cute, but she doesn't need it. I'm not trying to hurt her."

"Then what is what of her work buddies doing storming into her apartment."

"Talk to her about it," he shrugged, and Birkhoff attempted to walk past him again. He stepped in front of him.

"That totally isn't annoying," Birkhoff droned.

"If I see you again, you expect to answer to me, alright?"

"You realize Alex is part of a _spy _agency, right?" Birkhoff clarified. "And spies tend to carry _guns_? Or do you plan to stun me with your good looks?"

"I'm not laughing," Nathan snapped.

"Neither am I. Actually, what I'd like to do is _leave_."

"You hurt Alex, and I will _kill_ you, you hear me?"

"Are you going to be that obsessive ex that goes to his old girlfriend's house and shoots everybody? Because let me tell you something, that's a telltale sign of an unhealthy relationship."

"You think you're so funny."

Birkhoff scoffed loudly, quite fed up with hearing the phrase. Why couldn't people realize he was, in fact, hilarious?

"Bye, man," he spat, frustrated. Nathan tried to block his path again, but Birkhoff was able to barrel past him, which admittedly, he was pretty amped about. It made him feel tough and stuff.

As Birkhoff reached the elevator, he started to think. Alex clearly wanted something bad enough to revert back to her old stints in forcefully applied immorality. Something big. Probably being a heroine, someone being in danger or whatnot.

Birkhoff couldn't put the pieces together. He wasn't sure what Alex was trying to pull off that called for Division not listening on it.

But he decided that he wanted to help her.

He was a computer whiz. That much had been noted. Disabling a tracking chip was lofty business, though. It called for numerous passwords, some of them only known by Percy himself.

But, of course, Birkhoff was going to try for her. He got out his complicated, tiny computer thing and began his work. . . .

* * *

><p>Alex was to be chauffeured to her mission location. She found herself in a shady, black fan commandeered by some equally shady men in suits and sunglasses.<p>

"Where are you taking me?" she asked them.

"Mission location," one of them replied.

"Yeah, I figured that much. I mean, where? Where is the mission going down?"

"A hotel within the city," the driver told me.

"But he's never even met me," I pointed out. "Why would this guy agree to meet a women he's never met in a hotel room?"

The men exchange lofty looks.

"Oh," Alex was struck with realization. "_Oh_."

"We're not judging you, Miss," the man in the passenger seat assured her. "These kinds of missions go down often."

"What a respectable establishment we're a part of, huh?" she groaned, pressing her fingers to her forehead.

The men chortled good-naturedly.

"Here we are, Miss," the driver announced a while later. "It's room 418."

"Thanks," she replied shortly, feeling for the pistol strapped to her thigh for reassurance.

"Ready, Alex?" she heard in her head.

"Awesome," Alex mumbled.

"Don't be so grumpy, Alex," Amanda insisted. "I'm here to assist you."

"You don't exactly qualify as my guardian angel."

"I'm a good temp, though, aren't I?"

"Not even close."

"As long as you lose that attitude once you get inside, Alex," Amanda said smoothly.

Alex got out of the car and made her way inside, feeling sick the whole way up the elevator to the fourth floor. The fourth floor. The fourth floor out of seventeen floors. I mean, he could at least be the penthouse type. Lush surrounding might comfort her. Or make her feel classier.

Alex ran a hand through her hand, curled and rumpled to extreme sexiness, which also made her feel sick. She was chock full of sickly feelings this evening.

The doors reopened all too soon, and she stepped out into the hotel hallway. The carpet absorbed the sound her heels had been making. It was quiet besides the soft rustle of her shoes and the creepy breathing going on in her head.

She reached her destination quickly. She knocked on the door of room 418 twice.

The door opened to an olive-skinned, balding man in a navy suit.

And Alex went in to mission mode.

She stuck out her hip, rested one hand on it, and plastered on a playful smile.

"Hey," she greeted him intriguingly. "Liverfield, am I right?"

And the mission began.

"You are Alexandria, correct?" Liverfield asked.

"Might as well be," she shrugged. She scrunched her nose and eyebrows little when she said it, and with her thick make-up on, she knew how good she must have looked when she did. Red lips, black-rimmed eyes, rosy cheesy. Alex was kind of ashamed how easy this would be for her, provided she didn't have an emotional breakdown, considering her sketchy past as a sex slave. "Can I come in?"

Livefield stepped aside. "Of course you may."


	12. Objectifying Women

No rights to Nikita.

(Hey, guys, look at the show's rating. What even is that? What are we doing? What if it gets cancelled before Balex ever gets to happen? Wahh.)

* * *

><p>Birkhoff worked quickly, his hands flying across the keys. He tried to put himself in Percy's head to figure out his passwords. With enough deep thought and cross-referencing and some technological cunning, maybe he could figure this out.<p>

For Alex's sake.

* * *

><p>Alex was reclining on the couch with Liverfield across from her. She was laughing like a complete dunce and her self-respect dwindled with each passing moment.<p>

"Haha, that is _so funny_!" she repeated for the umpteenth time.

Liverfield smiled as if impressed with himself and Alex resisted gagging. Like seriously. Is there a single funny knock-knock joke on the planet?

"You don't need to pretend," Liverfield assured her. "It isn't very funny."

He was like a pretty girl trying announcing how ugly she was to a crowded room so people could fall over themselves in disagreement.

But Alex didn't play along.

"Yeah, you're right," she said flatly.

Liverfield raised an eyebrow.

Alex resisted rolling her eyes. "I mean . . . how's political strategizing treating you?"

"Excuse me?"

"If there was _one thing_ you wouldn't want a secret spy agency knowing about your political strategy, what would it be?" Alex questioned.

He just stared at her, confused.

"Alex," Amanda reprimanded in her head, "you can be more discreet then that. You want that chip out of your head or not?"

"Nevermind, it may not be worth it," Alex smiled, her spy code training kicking in.

Liverfield smiled warmly, but Amanda was less kind. "You have a kill chip, too, Alex. Keep that in mind."

Alex sighed, and delivered the pivotal line. "You wanna take this upstairs?"

"This . . . this is a hotel room," Liverfield stammered, confused.

"Oh, crap, I did that wrong," Alex scowled. "Elsewhere, I mean. You wanna take this elsewhere?" She was kind of surprised Amanda didn't cut in to correct her.

Liverfield glanced over his shoulder at his bodyguards who were trying pitifully to act like they weren't watching the two of them.

"Would you give us a minute?" Liverfield requested. "Go get a coffee down the street or something."

They nod stoically and left the room, closing the door quietly behind them. Liverfield turned back to Alex.

"Now what was that?" he prompted.

Alex sighed and blew up her bangs. "You wanna . . . you know."

"Do I?" Liverfield pressed, raising an eyebrow.

_Oh, gosh, he's trying to be seductive_, Alex whined in her mind.

"Yeah. You do," Alex assured him blandly.

"Well," Liverfield began, putting a hand on her thigh, "I'm quite flattered you've offered."

Alex pursed her lips together and tried to go to a happy place or whatever it was people did when they wanted to get out of a situation.

The hand on her thigh moved, and she literally but her tongue to keep from shrieking.

The forceful seduction by significantly older men?

This was a lot like Russia, back when she was young.

The thought straightened her posture and pushed her toward the edge of the couch, away from Liverfield's imposing hand.

"Hey, hey, it's okay," Liverfield attempted to be soothing.

Alex tried to laugh off what she had just done. "Sorry," her chuckle came out as a gasp, "I guess . . . I'm just a little . . ."

"It's okay. I understand," Liverfied assured her, and Alex didn't want to know what kind of conclusion he was jumping to. He scooted closer to her, brushed hair off of her shoulder, and put his hand there.

It was too much like Russia.

She bolted off the couch.

"I should go," came from her lips, feeling unbidden.

"What?" Liverfield said.

"I'm . . . I'm sorry." She turned to leave.

"Hey!" Liverfield grabbed Alex by the wrist, a new harshness in his voice that made Alex's blood run cold.

"The attention-seeking nature of the women today," Liverfield shook his head disapprovingly. "You think you can come in here, dressed like that, acting like that, and just _leave_?"

A new terror ran through Alex. She tried to get her fearlessness back, what usually enabled her to bash guys' faces in, but the connections between her current situation and her childhood were too massive and stifled her bravery.

"I'm sorry," Alex repeated.

"_Get over here_," Liverfield snarled, and his voice implied he wanted things Alex didn't want to think about.

Alex was near fearful tears. She was near helpless. She was afraid for the first time in a long time. With her impaired judgement, the only choice she could think about was . . .getting over there.

Alex sat back down on the couch, her body rigid. She hung her head shamefully as Liverfield reached for her again.

And Liverfield was about to reach her, to touch her shoulder or face or who knows what else.

When the door was flung open.

Alex and Liverfield's heads swiveled to the door to see the new intrusion, the new annoyance, the new nuisance.

With such words used to describe such a visitor, the characterization of the arrival made a lot of sense.

"Am I interrupting something?" Birkhoff asked with a grin, leaning against the doorframe.

"You are, actually," Liverfield said gruffly. "Please, leave."

"Sorry, bro," he shrugged, "but I don't plan on leaving without the girl."

Liverfield shot a look at Alex. "No. She's with me now."

"You don't know what you're getting into," Birkhoff told him with a lazy smile. "I mean, have you seen her fashion sense? Look at that gaudy orange dress! It's just distasteful. How could you commit to someone who would wear such a thing?"

"This isn't about commitment. Now get out," Liverfield ordered.

"In that case," Birkhoff began, pushing off the wall, "objectifying women, blah, blah, they aren't trophies, blah, blah, they have feeling, blah. Oh, and another thing . . ." To finish his sentence, he pulled a gun from his back pocket and fired.

Alex admitted, that was pretty hardcore.

Birkhoff missed. He was trying to. He shot the bottle of champagne resting on the table, which burst to pieces. Liverfield ducked, but gripped Alex tightly by the forearm.

Reenergized by Birkhoff's entrance, Alex quickly unstrapped the gun from her thigh and thwacked Liverfield's fingers with its butt. He released with a cry of pain and Alex ran towards door past Birkhoff, who shot at the upcoming figure of Liverfield, still chasing her down. He let out another cry of pain, then collapsed, grasping at his arm.

Birkhoff closed the door behind them, then turned to face a very shaken Alex.

Alex wanted to yell at him. He might've just ruined her only chance at Amanda removing the ear piece, and with it, her chance to get to Nikita and Michael without damaging her position within Division. She wanted to take the gun in her hand and shoot him in one of his limbs.

But instead, she threw his arms around him.

"Thank you," she said softly, stifling sobs.

"My pleasure," he replied, placing his hands on her back. "It pains me to interrupt this rare moment of Birkhoff appreciation, but we should go."

Birkhoff pulled away, but left her hands on his shoulders. "Huh?"

"Has Amanda been quiet lately?" Birkhoff asked, taking her arms and removing them. "I managed to disable the listening chip."

Alex wanted to cry with relief. She went to hug him again in her gratitude, but Birkhoff caught her by the shoulders.

"Yes, yes, I'm very sweet, but I might've caused some problems," he explained. "You see, now I have Amanda on both of our tails, so we should go."

"Go? Like _go_?"

"Yep. Like run away. We're Division fugitives now."

Alex's head spun. This was happening too quickly for her taste.

"Ready for the ride of your life, sweetheart?"


	13. Sleeping Arrangements

No rights to Nikita.

Thanks for reviews 3

* * *

><p>Alex had gotten over her initial grateful at Birkhoff's rescue. Now, she could clearly see the idiocy of it.<p>

"Birkhoff!" she slapped him on the chest once they reached the hotel lobby. "You blew my cover."

The slap didn't affect him much, obviously because she wasn't really trying. "What cover?" he said. "You were a Division agent, now you're not. No covers there."

Right. He didn't know about the Nikita thing.

_Crap_. Nikita.

Well, she still had the bug deactivated. She could still fly in for a rescue.

"Okay, thanks Birkhoff," she slapped him on the arm this time and turned toward the exit.

"_Whoa_," Birkhoff caught her by the arm and pulled her back to him. "Where do you think you're going?"

"I don't have to tell you," she became suddenly very defensive.

He gave her a pointed look.

"You don't have a right to know," she pointed out.

"I'm allowed to be concerned," he noted. "It's not like you can just stomp right back into Division now."

"Thanks to you."

"You're welcome."

"Birkhoff, just let me go," Alex requested sincerely.

He maintained grip on her arm.

"_Birkhoff_."

"Where are you going to go?" he asked.

"I've been homeless before," she reminds him.

"You are _not _living on the streets again," he demands surely.

"Yeah? What are you going to do about it."

"I could never let go of your arm," he shrugged nonchalantly.

"You're being stupid. Let me go."

"_Where_?"

"_Division_, okay?"

In his surprise, he releases her arm. "Division?"

Alex seriously considers breaking for the exit now. She may owe Birkhoff a thing or two now, but an explanation wasn't one of them.

She gave a vague impression of her plans instead, not willing to leave him empty-handed. "There's some stuff I should take care of back there."

"It's kind of a big risk just to clean out your locker, don't you think?" he frowned.

She shrugged. "You're not the boss of me."

"I'm going with you."

She scoffed loudly enough that she probably damaged his dignity. "_Please_."

Alex turned on her heel, finding the will to strut away from her.

"How do you plan on getting back to Division?" he asked.

Alex stopped in her tracks. Regrettably, he made a valid point. In order to keep Division's location a secret, not even the agents were permitted to know the routes. Nikita knew. She'd escaped after all. Alex knew a route from Nikita's place to Division. But not from wherever she was now.

She turned back toward Birkhoff. "You drive me there, and then you leave. Got it?"

"You're ever so impolite, Alexandra," he teased with a mischievous grin.

"Please?" she sighed begrudgingly.

"Sorry," he shrugged. "No car."

"How'd you get here, then?"

"On foot," he revealed. "Division's not too far away."

"Aww, you walked on foot for me?" she shot back.

"Shut up. Out the door with you."

He shooed her to the exit and they took off, following Birkhoff's lead. The sky was a deep, deep indigo. It was probably around one or two. Alex suddenly realized that she was very tired.

"Maybe some shut eye before I storm the palace," Alex decided. She pulled off her painful shoes that could definitely double as torture devices and held them my the heels in her right hand.

Birkhoff, on her left side, came to the same realization about his grogginess. "Back to the hotel, then? I've got some cash on me."

"I'm not going back in there any time soon," she rejected.

She suddenly veers off of the sidewalk into an uncharacteristically clean alley. Apparently, this city didn't have a bustling homeless population, or else this place would probably be packed to the brim.

"This looks nice," Alex commented.

"Seriously?" Birkhoff frowned.

"Hey, you can go back to the hotel if you want to," she tells him. "As for me . . ." She plops herself down onto the ground, pulling her dress down, then tilts her head back against the brick wall.

Birkhoff chuckled, amused. "You're insane."

"That building has a dangerous political figure in it," she gestures back the way they'd come. "Excuse me for finding solace in a dank alley."

She scooted her back further against the wall. "You gonna join me, princess?"

Birkhoff shook his head like one would at a puppy ramming itself against its own reflection, but nevertheless, sauntered up to Alex and plopped himself down beside her.

"We're in the same boat," he said resignedly. "Might as well stick together."

"Cool," Alex yawned, stretching her arms above her head.

Not really thinking much of it, she leaned her head onto Birkhoff's shoulder. Within minutes, despite the uncomfortable sleeping arrangement, Alex was fast asleep. Birkhoff eyed her for a while, as if mesmerized by the girl, chortled once more, then joined her there, sleeping just as easily against the brick walls.


	14. Dignity

Um...hi.

Long time no see.

Yeah, I'm really sorry. And it's not even a long or painfully exciting chapter.

On the brightside...Yay for season three! Twnety-two or so more chances for Balex moments. We still have a television graveyard slot, but it's better than cancellation.

No rights to Nikita.

* * *

><p>Alex regretted her sleeping decisions in the morning. Her dress felt gross against her skin. She took a moment to grimace at her condition, and then went back to business.<p>

"Birkhoff, get up," Alex tapped him on the arm. "Or stay. Whatever."

Birkhoff moaned groggily.

"Fine, stay," Alex accepted, hopping to her feet and brushing off the skirt of her dress.

Birkhoff groaned, then stumbled to his feet. "Or course I'm coming with you," he said sleepily. "I didn't sleep with you in an alley just to ditch you."

"Watch your word choice there, will you?" Alex requested with a wince. "I've got dignity to maintain."

Birkhoff rolled his eyes. "So now what? We just waltz into Division, grab whatever it is you're after, and head out?"

"I wish it were that simple," Alex grumbled.

"What do we do once we get to Division, then?"

Alex frowned up at him. "You don't do anything," she snapped. "You lead me there, than you backtrack and run and hide."

"I can set you up somewhere," Alex promised.

"Where would you even get the means to—"

"I have my resources," she assured him. "Now lead me to Division before I stomp on your head with a cleated boot."

"Which I assume is one of your resources," Birkhoff said. "Okay, let's go."

Alex followed him out of the alley and into the city, where he hailed a taxi. He opened a door, then in quite an un-Birkhoff-like fashion, stands inside and gestures at the opening.

"Ladies first," he said.

Alex raises an eyebrow, but clambers inside. Birkhoff climbs in after her and shuts the door as he fishes money from his jacket pocket.

"Just follow my directions as you drive, sir," Birkhoff requested.

"Can't you just give me a street?" the driver inquired.

"Can't I just find another cab I'm willing to tip audaciously?" he threatened.

The driver seemed to shrug to himself, and then began driving.

"Wouldn't it be easier for me to just point my gun at him and tell him to drive?" Alex whispered.

"Please, Alex," Birkhoff scoffs. "I have morals."

Alex smiled and rolled her eyes.

They sat in the car together, Birkhoff occasionally spouting instructions to the driver. When he ordered him to stop, Alex glanced out the window. They were on a street still, but on either side of them were no visible buildings, merely grasses, and some trees.

"Thank you, sir," Birkhoff said, handing the driver his wad of cash. "Keep the change." He reached for the door, and then seemed to think differently. "No, actually can I have my change?"

Alex scoffed.

"We could use the cash right now, honey," he shrugged.

"We?" Alex repeated. "Do we have a joint bank account now?"

"Well, if you come across cash, I definitely expect you to share it with me."

"Birkhoff, do you have anywhere to go once I haul out of Division?" Alex asked.

Birkhoff shrugged, pushing the taxi door open.

It struck Alex how much Birkhoff had just sacrificed on her behalf.

"You coming?" Birkhoff urged, holding the door open.

Alex slid out of the car and Birkhoff slammed the door behind her.

"You know, chances are," he began, "that once you step into Division, you'll feel inclined to kick and punch and shoot things. If you wore the dress that _I _suggested, you might have done so more comfortably."

Alex tugged at the hem of the orange fabric. "I can manage," she said. "Shall we?"

Birkhoff nodded.

"Hey, before we go," he said as they trudged across the grass, "we might want to take out your kill chip."

"Couldn't you just punch a bunch of buttons and deactivate it?"

"Sadly, it's not so easy being the tech nerd around here," he confessed. "It looks like the best option is removing in surgically."

"I don't have time for that!"

"Sorry, but if you storm Division, and Percy or Amanda could just click a button to take you out, don't you think they'd do that?" Birkhoff argued.

Alex sighed heavily. How long could Michael and Nikita wait? They were wasting time. Then again, if she died, who would save them then?

"Fine," she conceded, "but get me inside first."

Birkhoff accepted. "When you told me about the silo escape, I figured out the location of its exit externally.

"And here it is."

Birkhoff and Alex stepped up to a round, metal fixture in the grass.

"Just tug it open and you're in the silo," Birkhoff said.

"Alright, then," Alex breathed deeply. "Let's do it."


End file.
